


The Pathless Woods

by ruric



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not going to get to him in time but they are coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pathless Woods

**Author's Note:**

> More movie quote prompts from [fic_promptly](http://fic_promptly.dreamwidth,org). [juliet316](http://juliet316.dreamwidth.org2) prompted "I think I might throw up on you" - Stark Trek (2009).

Down on his knees in the dirt, arm wrenched around his back by the man-mountain standing behind him and Stiles knows they're not going to get to him in time. They're not going to get to him in time but they are _coming_ , and coming full tilt judging by the crashing in the undergrowth. He wonders, briefly, who's decision it was to abandon stealth in favour of the all-out charge, not that he's complaining.

"Hear that?" he asks past the split lip and aching jaw, smiling at the pack leader in front of him, ignoring the ringing in his ears. 

A bladder-loosening growl full of menace echoes in the forest surrounding them and Stiles knows exactly who that is.

"That's my alpha," he tilts his chin towards the woods, "and he's coming with my own personal cavalry. If you want to get out of here in anything remotely resembling one piece I'd start running now."

There's a flicker of uncertainty in the alpha's gaze and the man-mountain steps a little closer, his knee digging into Stiles's back. Unfortunately the uncertainty doesn't last long enough and the alpha glances to the giant holding Stiles in place. Oh shit, he has a very bad feeling about where this is going.

"Big mistake," Stiles grits out. 

He's trying to brace himself, letting the anger he feels bleed into his eyes and replace the fear. Hang around with wolves long enough and you learn to mimic some of their expressions. Fake it 'til you make it, right?

He catches the barest glimpse of Scott, of worried human eyes shifting to yellow. Man-mountain's grip tightens and Stiles sucks down a ragged breath but can't hold back the scream when he feels his bones snap like twigs. 

Scott blurs, at least Stiles thinks Scott blurs, into wolf-form but it could be his vision what with the agonising pain and all. 

The woods erupt in furious growls and howls and a frenzy of bodies surges into the clearing. Man-mountain shoves him forward and Stiles tries to twist to protect his arm, feeling a sickening lurch of horror when he realizes he’s not going to make it.

But a hand catches his good shoulder stopping his fall, even though he yelps as it jars the arm dangling uselessly across his body. He closes his eyes against the bright light of pain and sinks his teeth into his lip until he tastes blood.

Gentle hands lower him to the ground and then rest carefully against his shoulder and there's a blessed lessening of the pain. Sure it still hurts like fuck, but the pain isn't so heart-stoppingly immediate. He sucks down a couple of deep breaths hoping it does something to combat the adrenalin kicking his body into overdrive, then opens his eyes and squints until his vision clears. 

There's movement to the side of him, Derek has a couple of short branches in his hands which he drops by Stiles's hip. Stiles takes in the furious red eyes and fangs, then Derek leans a little closer and inhales.

Stiles does his best to project in-pain-but-not-imminent-danger-or-screaming-agony and wishes that sheer bloody-minded conviction could affect body chemistry and scent.

Red eyes bleed to brown and it’s never going to get old watching Derek's face slide from wolf back to human.

"Ow," Stiles ventures, more to see if his voice is going to crack or whether he can actually form words.

"Can you sit up?" 

"Not yet, give me a minute." Stiles thinks about it. "Lying very still feels kind of good right now."

Derek nods and shrugs his way out of his ever present leather jacket, then pulls his t-shirt over his head.

Hello there, rippling muscles. Stiles might be hurt but he's not dead yet. "That's never going to get old either," he mutters under his breath.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him, claws ripping into fabric setting strips aside and then deftly twisting and knotting. He stretches the material between his hands and gives a sharp tug, nodding in satisfaction when it holds.

"Would you look at that, impromptu splint and sling in three easy moves. Somebody's field medic skills don't need any refreshing."

"Too much practice," Derek says, kneeling next to him. 

It's true, these last few months have seen too many packs trying their luck and they're going to have to come up with a new strategy for dealing with incursions onto their territory. Preferably ones involving less pain and running on their part.

"Countdown?" Stiles suggests. "You know, one two and then on thr..."

But Derek's already moving, straighting his arm and knotting the splint in place. Stiles chokes on an outraged breath and a tsunami of pain snatches him away which is the only way he can explain how Derek manages to get the sling on him too.

"A little warning would've been nice," Stiles gasps when the sky stops revolving and the pain is a little less agonising.

Derek settles back on his heels and pulls his jacket on. "Ready?"

"Not even remotely," Stiles says. "But the good drugs are at the hospital not out here, right? So let's give it a shot."

In the end Stiles doesn't have to do much more than hang on and trust Derek, which is a good thing because his knees have turned to jello and the ground seems to be undulating under his feet. Though the splint and sling help he's pretty sure he's breathing in panicked shallow gasps and there's a steady litany of "fuck fuck fuck fuck" spilling out of his mouth.

Once they're upright Stiles leans his forehead into Derek's shoulder and just breathes. 

"How are you doing?" Derek slides one arm behind Stiles's back, palming his hip, fingers digging into the sensitive skin beneath.

"I might throw up on you," Stiles grits out, swallowing against the roil of his stomach. "So, you know, please consider this an apology in advance."

Derek pauses, shifts his balance a little and sends Stiles a considering look.

"Don't even think about it," Stiles says. "There is no way in hell you're carrying me out of here like some pretty princess in need of rescue. I'd never live it down."

Derek has the decency to look a little bit guilty.


End file.
